


Look at the Sun

by liketreesinnovember



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Drunkenness, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, One-sided Tyrion/Jaime, Oral Sex, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:08:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22973809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liketreesinnovember/pseuds/liketreesinnovember
Summary: Tyrion might have found that, in other circumstances, Dorne was to his liking. He was beginning to take to the food, in particular, the sun-drenched days and balmy nights, and the endless variety of spiced wines, red and strong enough to make a man almost forget his old life.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister & Tyrion Lannister, Myrcella Baratheon & Tyrion Lannister, Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand, Tyrion Lannister/Oberyn Martell, Tyrion Lannister/Shae
Comments: 6
Kudos: 54





	Look at the Sun

Prince Oberyn’s solar was open on two sides to the night air and flanked by ornate stone pillars. From this height, one could see the Water Gardens below, and hear the gentle sound of flowing water and a light breeze rifling the leaves of the trees. Tyrion reclined on satin pillows as he and the prince ate an elaborate meal of various spiced meats, peppers, honeyed almonds, dates, and strong Dornish wine that warmed as it went down.

All this was almost enough to make him forget the sting of his exile, fleeing shamefully in the night on a ship bound for Dorne. Days and nights spent hidden belowdecks, in a cabin that rocked back and forth unkindly, perhaps trying to shake off one stowaway dwarf who was supposed to have been executed by now. Tyrion had never been at sea before, and did not find the voyage particularly pleasant. Amidst the rocking of the ship and the sounds of the sea, Tyrion was serenaded in the night by the sounds of the prince and his paramour, who seemed not to have been bothered in the least by the tumultuous voyage.

Still, Tyrion might have found that, in other circumstances, Dorne was to his liking. He was beginning to take to the food, in particular, the sun-drenched days and balmy nights, and the endless variety of spiced wines, red and strong enough to make a man almost forget his old life.

The prince often invited him up here of a night, to dine and drink and speak of politics, and philosophy, and whatever else happened to be on Oberyn’s mind. Oberyn was an amicable companion and a fascinating conversationalist, and surprisingly well-read, Tyrion found. The prince even owned copies of some of the rarest tomes in Westeros, volumes that Tyrion had only dreamed of getting his hands on, and he relished the opportunity to probe the man’s library as well as his brain.

Tyrion leaned back lazily against the soft pillows, full nearly to bursting from the evening meal and a little drunk, and watched a pair of colorful birds of the variety unique to Dorne chase one another from tree to tree, back and forth. This dance they repeated nightly, squawking and chortling at one another like young lovers playing monsters and maidens.

He was startled out of his reverie when Prince Oberyn leaned towards him to refill his cup, and this time when Oberyn met his gaze, he held it longer than usual.

“I must say, my lord,” said Oberyn Martell, “That you do have the most astonishing eyes. I do not think I have ever seen anything like it.”

_ Astonishing _ was not the word Tyrion would have used, nor did he think it was the word the prince had meant to use, and he opened his mouth to say so, but found himself closing it again.

The prince abruptly leaned forward and took Tyrion’s chin in his hand, his own dark eyes gazing into Tyrion’s. It was hard for Tyrion to read what was written there in the murky depths, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Tyrion pushed the prince’s hand away and groped for his wine cup. “Spare me the indecency of being gawked at like some monkey in a menagerie,” he said. He already felt rather like a bird in a gilded cage. Being a dwarf was bad enough, but an exile in a strange land, relying entirely on the charity of others...it rankled his pride, and the attention the prince was now giving him only emphasized that feeling.

Oberyn’s expression grew apologetic, but his eyes remained hard to read. “Forgive me, my lord. That was not my intention.”

Tyrion tried to gloss over the awkwardness of the moment with a wave of his hand and a sip of wine. “Does not your paramour usually join us on these nights?” he asked.

“She has...taken up a new obsession which has kept her quite busy of late,” Oberyn said. “A lovely young handmaid employed at the palace. The two spend much of their time together.”

Oberyn did not seem at all jealous to speak of his woman with another, but there was something else that Tyrion sensed behind his words. It bothered him that he could not place it, just as it bothered him that so much of the prince still remained a mystery to him.

In the trees, the birds seemed to have settled their dance for the night and contented themselves with softly calling back and forth to one another between the trees.

“Have you ever known a man before?” Oberyn asked.

Tyrion took a long draught before answering. “...Once.”

He'd been young, sixteen or seventeen, when he saw the tall, blond, beautiful young man in one of the brothels in Lannisport. Most male whores were boys, or pretended to be, but this one had a masculine strength, corded muscles and lithe limbs, like a cat, and green eyes, almost as green as Lannister emeralds.

"Tell me what you want," The man had said, a smile on his lips, “and it is yours.”

_ I want you to touch me the way you touch Cersei _ , Tyrion might have said, but this was not Jaime, just some poor copy. A bastard offshoot of the Lannisport Lannisters, perhaps.

And Jaime wouldn't, anyway. Only a whore would deign to touch him that way. Only for gold _. _

The beautiful young man had smiled against his lips, and Tyrion had felt the heat from his broad shoulders against his chest.

Oberyn nodded as though Tyrion had elaborated.

“Is that it then?” Tyrion sneered, “Your paramour grows bored of you, so you must needs look elsewhere? Never fucked a dwarf before, so why not?”

“I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Of course not.” Tyrion took another long gulp of wine. His face was flushed with the drink, and he looked away.

If he drank too much Myrcella would make sure he got out of bed the next morning.  _ That makes one of us who cares _ , he thought. The poor girl had enough to worry about without worrying about him drinking himself to death, but his niece acted as if she did not notice the hideous wound that now marred her face.  _ A terrible business, and my fault. _ Myrcella had been more concerned over his own scars when she had first seen him, and had fussed over him like a mother hen.  _ We match now, _ he had thought. A bitter sentiment indeed. A pretty girl deserved better than that. But Myrcella still carried herself with all the beauty of the world, and combed her hair so that it covered her right ear, and acted as if nothing were amiss.

Tyrion disentangled himself from the pillows and stood up, a bit wobbly. “My niece will miss me in the morning if I do not find my way to my bedchamber soon,” he announced. Then he took a step forward and his legs entangled with the pillows and he went tumbling into a - luckily - soft landing.

Oberyn was quick at his side. Tyrion wanted to shove the man away, but instead he leaned heavily against the prince as his legs regained their balance. The prince smelled of wine and spices and sandalwood.

Tyrion somehow managed to make it up the stairs to his own chambers, shrugging off the prince's offer of a hand, and when he was finally alone, tumbled ungracefully into the feather bed.

The next night, the birds had already ended their dance and were cooing gently to one another from somewhere in the trees when Tyrion found himself speaking of Jaime to the prince.

"He was the only one," Tyrion said, after a long draught of wine. This one had a sour aftertaste that danced on the tongue. "The only one who took care of me."

"Yet he betrayed you," Oberyn said. The prince did not know the story of Tyrion and Jaime's last encounter, before Tyrion fled Westeros to avoid a beheading, when Jaime had told him the truth about Tysha. Did not know anything about that sorry episode. Yet he looked at Tyrion knowingly, sympathetically. "I know how it is with older brothers, and I can tell that he hurt you deeply, somehow. Older brothers can be like that, sometimes. They are careless with our affections."

"Jaime never loved me," Tyrion said suddenly, angrily, startled at his own confession. "He only loved  _ her _ ." He took another long drink of the wine, and it burned his anger away and pushed it into the lump in the pit of his stomach, where it became hard and bitter.

"Younger brothers must look out for each other," Oberyn said, putting a hand on Tyrion's arm.

Tyrion stared at the hand but did not pull his own arm away.

It had been so long since anyone had touched him. He'd been living like a septon in his own marriage bed the past few months. There had been Shae, yes, but that had been getting harder to maintain even before things had gone further south, and not even the memory of Shae could bring him comfort any more, not after the things she had said at his trial. He wondered what had happened to her. She had been weeping when they had brought her in, her eyes big and frightened. Frightened of him, he wondered? Of his father and his sister? Had she really believed those things she said, or had they only made her say them? Either way, he had been a fool to believe that she had ever welcomed his touch.

"Tell me," Tyrion said to the prince, "And let us end this dance. What is it that you want? I know how these things work. Yet I have nothing to give you. No gold, no ships...if it's Myrcella you want, you already have her, and gods help me, I gave her to you. So tell me, my Prince, what can you possibly want from me?" Tyrion's voice had risen in a way he hadn't meant it to as he finished.

Oberyn's eyes sparkled with an amusement that only irritated Tyrion further. "Forgive me, my lord," the prince said, "but I do not think you know how these things work."

Tyrion frowned, then a short laugh escaped his lips.

"I want you," Oberyn Martell said. "Lord Tywin's son squirming beneath me, hard and wanton like a whore."

"I have heard tales of a dwarf whore in King's Landing if that is - "

Oberyn chuckled. "I'm right then. You don't know. But I've seen what's in your eyes. Either accept my offer or reject it, little lion."

The truth of the words stung, and the impudence in the man's tone stung even more, but Tyrion could not deny it. 

Tyrion leaned forward and took the prince's mouth, if only to get him to  _ shut up _ .

Oberyn's lips smiled against his and the prince kissed him back, aggressively, pushing against Tyrion. Strength and size were not on Tyrion's side but he pushed back, and the prince broke free of the kiss long enough to let out a surprised laugh before Tyrion's mouth found his again.

Tyrion thought,  _ who is the squirming whore?  _ As he pushed Oberyn down onto the pillows.

Tyrion parted the fabric of Oberyn's tunic to explore the hard, lean, muscular chest with his mouth and tongue. This was...different, but it was glorious. And oh, yes, he wanted this.

Oberyn's hands - the hands of a warrior - were surprisingly deft, even as Tyrion was on top of him, as the hands slipped beneath Tyrion's tunic, and then made short work of unlacing his breeches. Where Oberyn was all corded muscle, Tyrion's flesh was soft and pliable and Oberyn's long, sure fingers dug into Tyrion's exposed thighs in a way that made him cry out even as it caused his cock to twitch pleasurably.

Then Oberyn surged upward, flipping Tyrion onto his back in one smooth movement. Tyrion lay breathless on the soft pillows, hands grasping at Oberyn as the prince's weight loomed over him.

Oberyn kissed him roughly and when Tyrion's mouth was free, he could not help but let out a small whimper at the need for more, but Oberyn's mouth was moving down, now, tracing across his body until it found the trail of fine hairs that led down between his legs. Oberyn took Tyrion's manhood into his mouth and Tyrion's hands, no longer sure of themselves, twisted in the pillows.

It did not take long for Tyrion to come undone beneath the prince. In the days that followed, Tyrion was careful, knowing that Myrcella would fuss if she saw the bruises on his thighs. Tyrion assured her that he was fine even if he walked a little more slowly than usual. For once, the pain felt good.


End file.
